I stormed into my tiny kitchen, all shoddy wood and bright white--an odd combination, but given the nine-to-five kinda life I'd been living till now, it wasn't all that bad. Shrugging, I went to the fridge and yanked out a bottle. If I was going to embark on a life-changing journey I might as well have a tipple just to knock up some courage.
As I raised the bottle to my lips, a floaty, almost translucent voice slipped into my ear: "I wouldn't do that if I were you."
About half of the contents slopped over onto my shirt as I gaped at the woman perched on my counter. She was small and slim, petite, and dressed in a billowy sort of dress most people would call a toga. I thought of it as a bedsheet and pins. Although of course, her features were so strikingly beautiful that she brought it off, the whole ensemble, and looked just like one of those goddess babes you keep hearing about.
"Hello, Dan," she said, hopping off the counter and striding across the floor. When she was about a foot away from me she stopped and smiled. I was too stunned to smile back.
"Hello, Dan," she repeated. "I am your muse."
"You are my--my what?!" I spluttered.
She gave a little giggle. "Your muse, Dan. If you're going to travel the world and write a story or two along the way, you've got to have inspiration."
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